


River Maiden

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU - Finduilas survives and finds Niënor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Grief, Happy AU, No Túrin is better for one's health, Recovery, Tolkien Femslash Week, Warning for mentions of past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finduilas has survived the fall of Nargothrond, barely, but now she must survive alone in the forest. Or maybe not quite alone, for one day she meets a strange, terrified young mortal woman who seems to have no memory of who she is or where she came from.</p><p>(Prompt: Finduilas/Niënor, Recovery, for Tolkien Femslash Week.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	River Maiden

She had not intended to find the girl.

Finduilas was leaning over the river at the time, lifting her ragged skirts to paddle her feet in the cool shallows, when something large and heavy came barrelling into her, knocking her painfully into the water, its bulk on top of her, limbs tangling with hers.

Finduilas came up kicking and coughing and spluttering, her hand going to the sharp rocks on the river bed, ready to fight for her life if necessary. But her “attacker” was not at all what she had expected. Finduilas had imagined orcs like the ones that had taken her before, whose cruel grasp she had so narrowly slipped from.

But this was no orc. Instead, a bruised and scratched Edain girl kicked and scrabbled weakly in the shallows, her long, golden hair swirling about her in tangled eddies. She was entirely naked, her eyes wild with panic. Finduilas frowned, extending a hand, but the girl swatted it away with surprising force, a slight snarl on her lips, like a terrified animal caught in a trap. The girl darted a glance behind as the water flowed about them, and made to stand up but promptly collapsed back onto the shallow river bed, with an agonised whimper as her ankle gave way beneath her. 

"Are you hurt?" asked Finduilas. "Did you hurt your ankle in the fall?"

The girl merely stared at her in fear and incomprehension, frozen and trembling. 

"Can you talk?" 

The girl still said nothing. Finduilas sighed, noticing the poor unfortunate creature was staring at her ankle hard, as though by her glare alone she could ease the pain. She was plainly fighting to keep back tears, still giving Finduilas the occasional wary glance. Gently, tentatively, Finduilas placed her hand on the girl’s scratched and scabbed over shin, letting her fingers rest only lightly on the skin, to show she meant no harm. Finduilas was still not certain the girl understood. Nevertheless, she sat there silent and still, but for a minute wince of pain as Finduilas ran her fingers swiftly over the ankle, which was already beginning to swell. 

Finally Finduilas pulled back and sighed. “I don’t think it’s broken.”  _Not that Finduilas herself had much experience of such things._  “A bad sprain, most likely.”

The girl’s eyes were wide and still she did not speak or move, watching Finduilas with wide eyes.  _Poor thing,_  thought Finduilas,  _out in the woods alone_. The girl had clearly been running from something, the wild, almost childlike terror in her eyes was enough to tell Finduilas that. It reminded her of her own flight from the orcs, slipping away even as they tried to bind her to a tree, the tall one fingering a long knife and the other holding in front of her face a wicked-looking lance taller than she was, showing it to her, waving it before her eyes with a cruel smile.

But their hands had been slick with blood (the blood of Nargothrond, of her own people who had fled into the forest) and river water, and as they tried to grip her wrists she had somehow, improbably, managed to slip free, to bolt into the trees… she still had no idea how she had done it; instinct had seemed to take over, and she was fighting like a mad thing, and then she was running, her hair catching in the branches until all the forest was silent and dark around her and she collapsed from sheer exhaustion, falling asleep on the damp forest floor with tears drying on her face. The next day she had been sore all over, scratched and bruised, afraid and alone, but alive. And she had survived, after that. She had been determined to.

Finduilas looked into the eyes of the nameless girl before her and saw that same burning defiance there, a bright chip of it amid the fear. Carefully, Finduilas lifted the trembling girl in her arms, cradling her like a small child. The girl gave a whimper and clung to Finduilas’ neck, relaxing almost imperceptibly. 

———

"You must have a name" said Finduilas thoughtfully. They were sitting in the abandoned, tumbledown staging post that had become Finduilas’ temporary home after her flight from the orcs several months ago. The small way fort was drafty, with part of the roof having fallen in, but it offered some shelter at least.

It had obviously been abandoned quickly, some years ago;  _the threat of an orc attack? An evacuation?_  She found she did not especially care. The road it had once served was overgrown no longer maintained or used. There was a kitchen, the food all rotted away years ago, the entire place hopelessly damp. But the knifes and bowls she found were useful, as was the flint for starting fires. And anyway, she had not dared to strike out to find safety elsewhere; Finduilas did not even know if anyone who would take her in was still alive. (And sometimes she wondered why  _she_ was still alive. The fair flower of Nargothrond, she had been. Delicate and bright, but fragile, they had said, with their eyes if not with words. She had outlived them all, she thought sometimes, sorrow and anger and confusion threatening to drown her.)

But when Finduilas started a fire in the hearth, it was almost warm, even in winter. The girl’s eyes still never left her, and she never answered Finduilas, except with wordless sounds, like the ones a young child might make.  

"I’m  _Finduilas_ " she said later, as she was handing the girl a bowl of broth as the fire crackled beside them. Those large eyes still watched her, even as she tasted the broth, carefully blowing on a tiny spoonful. She still said nothing, but the corners of her mouth quirked upwards in a fraction of a smile. 

"Finduilas" she repeated, after they were both finished eating. She pointed to her own chest. "Finduilas. That’s my name. What’s yours?" The girl looked lost suddenly, and terribly young, almost on the verge of tears. She shook her head and raised her hands, helplessly.  _She can’t remember_ , Finduilas realised, with a rush of pity.  _Whatever could have befallen the poor child that would cause that?_  

She smiled as kindly as she could. “Well, if you don’t have a name, I will give you one for us to use for now” she said briskly. “I will call you…” she hesitated for a moment. “Neniel.”  _The water maiden. She had found her in the water, after all, and it would do for now._

"Neniel" she repeated, in a small voice, taking Finduilas by surprise. She seemed almost to have trouble forming the word, but that small smile was appearing on her face again. 

"That’s right" said Finduilas. 

Neniel raised a quizzical eyebrow and pointed at Finduilas. “F-Fin-doo-lass…?”

Finduilas smiled. “That was very good! Fin-du-i-las” she tried to enunciate every syllable. 

"Fin-duilas" said Neniel, smiling triumphantly. "Finduilas, Finduilas, Finduilas" she repeated, seeming to like the sound of the name in her mouth.

After that she picked up words quickly. She seemed to absorb them voraciously. Finduilas, for her part, found it fascinating. She was perfectly willing to give Neniel a hint in the right direction when she forgot. Not that Neniel often did forget, and when she did she was endearingly defensive about her own skills, getting cross with Finduilas for revealing the lost word too soon. 

Neniel had learned to speak, read and write well by the time Finduilas finally broached the subject of her past. Immediately Neniel’s face clouded over, brow crumpling in a frustrated frown. “I don’t remember” she said tautly, but not unkindly. “I wish I could, but…” she spread her hands and shook her head, meeting Finduilas’ eye with a look that was almost pleading. It immediately made Finduilas feel guilty, and she pulled Neniel into a swift hug. “I’m sorry” she said. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Neniel smiled ruefully, burrowing her nose into Finduilas’ shoulder. “I know. Of course, it’s not your fault. I just wish…”

"You wish you could remember your old life."

"Yes. I feel as if there’s something… something left undone. Something I have to do."

Finduilas sighed. “Sometimes I am envious of you” she admitted at last. 

Neniel looked at her in astonishment. “What for?”

"I lost my whole family, my friends, my home. My very  _life_ " she said. "And I regret…" she took a deep, steadying breath. "I was engaged to be married, once" she said at last. "I loved him deeply, at the time."

"Oh" gasped Neniel. "Did he die too?"

"I suppose he must have" said Finduilas, remembering Gwindor. "But not before I had hurt him terribly, I fear."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" she took a deep breath. "I… I began to fall  _out_  of love with him. I met someone else, someone… who became very dear to me. The feelings were… confusing.” She stared at Neniel. “But never mind that now. It’s all in the past. For all I know they are both dead, or perhaps they are alive and happy with others.”

"And… and that is why you wish you couldn’t remember?"

"Sometimes" Finduilas admitted. "Dreadfully selfish of me, I know. But sometimes I just wish I didn’t have to think about it every day, didn’t have to dwell on it so."

Neniel looked sad. “I’m sorry.”

Finduilas gave Neniel a rueful smile. “Don’t be.”

————

They learned many things together; they learned to fish, to hunt silently in the forest with the knives that they found in the broken down kitchen, lashed tightly to poles. When Finduilas had been alone she had often gone hungry; now the days when they could catch or gather nothing at all grew fewer and farther between, and they generally had stores to get them through. They found a hatchet and cut wood for fuel and to make new struts for the roof. They learned to cook and sew with bone needles and prepare skins to wear so that the next winter was not as biting and desolate as Finduilas’ first had been. The previous winter she had been certain, a few times, that she would freeze to death where she slept, that orcs would find her body still curled up under the tattered and mouldy blankets when spring came. The roof had been half-broken too, unstable, and she had perpetually worried that it may collapse in and crush her, particularly on stormy nights.

Between the two of them they fixed the hole in the roof, patched it over so that when they lit a fire inside it could be truly warm at last, and it seemed like the greatest luxury in the world. Finduilas had never been taught to do any of these things in Nargothrond; she had been a princess, and had never had to. Neniel, if she had ever known, had forgotten, of course.

After a while, Finduilas realised, it was not only about survival. She almost began to enjoy her life - no,  _their_  life - the pain and grief when she thought about the past beginning to recede just a little. She began to realise consciously that she could live like this; truly live, rather than survive only. That it was, perhaps, enough. Neniel was kind and sweet; a better friend to her than any from her old life. And a friend, she began to realise, was exactly what she had needed to keep her going on day by day.

In summer they would bathe their feet in the stream once they had gathered enough food for the day and done their chores; they were alert, always, for the orc raiding parties that sometimes came by, but there were days still that stretched out before them, long and golden. The water flowed fast and cold, and Neniel would splash Finduilas, laughing and shrieking when Finduilas splashed her back, protesting that the river maiden should have the only right to splash people with her own waters.

(“What a fool I was to give you that damned name” laughed Finduilas. “I didn’t anticipate  _this_.” Neniel merely pulled her into the water with a grin.)

In the winter they slept close together, huddled under a single pile of pelts for warmth. It could still get bitterly cold in winter but with the other’s warmth and encircled by their intertwined arms they both felt a little safer, a little better protected from the chill that froze the waters of the river solid. 

One night in their second winter Finduilas lay awake listening to the wind howl. She had woken from a fitful slumber, full of snatches of dark dreams. Dreams of half-forgotten whispers that were somehow also, far too clear. Dreams of Nargothrond, of her father and mother, her uncle, her brother whom she had barely known, for he had been so young when he was sent away. Of Gwindor, as he was before and as he was after. Of Mormegil, for although she knew his true name she would always think of him as Mormegil, the name Túrin son of Húrin sounding wrong, unfamiliar to her.

All these people, gone. She had vaguely entertained the possibility, once, of going to find her mother and Ereinion at the Havens. But even if she had known the way, the road was far too long, far too dangerous, to throw away all they had now without knowing for certain if they were even still there. Finduilas knew pitifully little about what went on in the outside world, and it was only at times like these, late at night when Neniel was asleep, that she regretted it. 

She shifted under the furs so that she was facing Neniel, looking at her face in the grey light before dawn. Neniel’s hair mingled with her own, forming a pooling halo around both their heads. The pale light stole the colour from it, making it appear almost silver, their hair now close to the same colour, although under the full light of the sun Neniel’s was the slightest shade darker.

Neniel’s eyes fluttered a little beneath their lids. Dreaming.  _I wonder what she dreams of,_  thought Finduilas.  _Does she dream of her old life, only to forget again each morning?_  She found herself idly wondering - not for the first time - whether Neniel had had a lover in that past life.  _Did she dream of having children, grandchildren, and living out her few scant decades in joy?_

She suddenly felt a little unsteady, as she always did when she remembered that Neniel was a mortal. It was easy to forget sometimes; perhaps Finduilas did it deliberately, but she could never escape the fact that it was true, and Neniel would age, she would die, leaving Finduilas alone again… j _ust like Mormegil. That was the reasoning everyone used to warn her against him, although she had not been inclined to listen at the time. These mortals, they are so brief but they burn so bright._

Suddenly Neniel’s eyes flickered open, the haze of sleep clearing slowly as she met Finduilas’ gaze.

"What’s wrong?" asked Neniel, concerned.

"Nothing" Finduilas reassured her, brushing away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over Neniel’s eyes and tucking the covers in a little closer about them both. "I just woke up, that’s all. I was… thinking. Sleep, now."

Neniel ignored this last entreaty. “Are you alright? Were you… remembering?”

Finduilas sighed.  _Neniel could always tell._  “Yes. Yes I was.” And suddenly, without warning, she found tears starting in her eyes, and she was choking back a sob which seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Neniel took her in her arms, stroking her hair. “Ssh. Ssh, it’ll be alright. I know it’s hard. I can’t imagine what it must be like for…” she stopped, her voice sounding as though she were trying to fight back tears herself. 

Finduilas pulled back to look at her. Neniel thumbed away a tear from Finduilas’ cheek. “There now. Tears help, don’t they? You saved me, and you know, I never once saw you cry.”

It was true. Finduilas had often comforted Neniel as she sobbed like a child, especially close to the beginning, but had never let herself cry in front of her. “I’m sorry” she said. “It’s just… remembering… is… well, it’s _hard._ " She stopped. "But then not remembering must be hard too."

"Yes, it is." Neniel touched their foreheads together, cupping Finduilas’ cheeks. Their noses bumped together. Neniel gave a hint of a smile, with just the corner of her mouth. That mouth looked so familiar, Finduilas had always thought. It was as though she had seen it before, on someone else perhaps, but she couldn’t for the life of her think who, or how that could have come about. No, she realised now, it was more that Neniel’s face had always seemed familiar to her, in a comforting sort of way. Like an old friend, even when they had met for the very first time. 

It was a strange thing, memory, and Finduilas knew as well as any that it could play tricks on one, especially when haunted by dreams in the cold light before the dawn. She pursed her own lips a little, eyes flicking over the lines of Neniel’s face again and again. 

But only for a moment, for then something unexpected happened. (Or perhaps Finduilas had been expecting it. Perhaps she had been waiting for it for a long time.) Neniel’s lips were lightly brushing hers, the slightest ghost of a kiss. Finduilas twitched backwards a little, startled.

Neniel blushed furiously. “I… I’m sorry, Finduilas.” The way she said her name made something twist inside Finduilas.  _Perhaps it always had._

"No" said Finduilas, lifting Neniel’s chin so that their eyes met again. "Don’t be." Finduilas kissed her, longer and deeper this time. 

Of memory and dreams and dark things they spoke no more that night. Just then, it seemed to matter little.

**Author's Note:**

> "Neniel", of course, means "river maiden" which is certainly a lot more hopeful than Túrin's naming effort ("Níniel" = tear maiden).


End file.
